I'm in deep mourning--
because to me, Labor Day is the end of summer. Doesn't summer, feel, just over?
"Danny? Is this end?"
"Of course not. It's only the beginning."
Yeah I quote Grease every single year at the end of the summer. Even I think it's getting old.
But guess what? All my kids are in school.
I'm gonna let that sink in for just a minute. . .
yeah. You heard me. Even my little Strawberry Shortcake here is in school.
Shhhhhh! Don't tell. . . I was really sad when my boys went back to school. BUT I was happy, nay, excited for little Scarlet O'Hara here to start. She was so excited to go, and plus while she's super crazy fun, she's also super crazy with wanting to constantly be doing something. She wore me out.
But you didn't hear that from me. Repeat that and I'll call you a liar to your face.
But back to summer, because I'm still lamenting.
I says to the hubs,
"We only have 13 total summers left with any kids in our house. That's IT. Can you believe that?"
Hubs: "13, huh. Seems like a lot of summers to me. It's not like the kids just die once they're adults, hon."
I don't even know who you are, anymore.
Mind if I tell you how I was feeling this summer? A big, grievous error on my part, if you will.
WE WERE OVERSCHEDULED.
We did some cool stuff. We did. But I felt like I was constantly repacking our driving garbage can. Constantly heading back to the store to spend $100 on bags of air to eat and filling coolers up for a trip. And it was neat-o that we got all close and personal with our family tent 'n all,
but it was too much. Just a little.
Summers should be calm. Chill. Sipped slowly like a fine non-alcoholic beverage. More night games. Less running about in the car.
So I've learned my lesson. The kids' summer is short enough as it is.
Also, gratuitous sidenote:
my sister and I learned to drive a boat this summer. Because it's sooo hard. Shuddup.
And this picture proves that I need to drop and give ya 20 any time I can. I wanna reach over and just jiggle my own arm in this pic. Or just poke myself with my index finger and say "Heehee!" Like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
We did do some fun, caaaallm things this summer, too. And just to show the neighbors that I am, indeed, nutso, out to lunch, cray cray, and so on,
I had this great idea to do a treasure hunt for the boys in the hood. I'm talking, lots of clues, lots of ground to cover, X marks the spot, dig up the treasure chest. . . the whole she-bang.
Like "Goonies" right? I mean, right?
I probably had more fun putting it together then they had doing the hunt.
I teased my boys and was all,
"Okay, you have to be a character from the movie."
I was just kidding. Being a dork. It's what moms do.
"Well, okay. You're Chunk."
You don't kick a woman when she's down, son. Obviously, you're Mouth. Ya little buttmunch.